


Puzzle Pieces

by WriterGirl128



Series: No Big Deal [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott, Anchors, Bromance, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Kind of Slow Build?, M/M, Post-Nogitsune, Protective Scott, Study Buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2212329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterGirl128/pseuds/WriterGirl128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott would rather have had the “Surprise, I’m a werewolf!” conversations all over again. That was easier—and less humiliating—to explain than the fact that he’s got a new thing for cuddling with his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puzzle Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> So. This monster of a fic is slowly taking over my life.

Things, for what felt like the first time in forever, we're normal. It made Scott's stomach churn uneasily.

Not that he wanted another supernatural crisis to invade their lives—god, no. They were still figuring out how to deal with the last one, thank you very much. But Beacon Hills almost became eerily quiet, like the calm before the storm. And the last thing they needed was another storm—especially when there was still so much rebuilding to be done after the last one.

Part of Scott felt like it was too easy—things couldn’t just _stop._ He didn’t trust it. There’s got to be a catch in there, somewhere. Some underlying disaster, some new bad guy flying way below their radar, just waiting for them to get comfortable in their new sense of safety before ambushing them and making the world crash down around them again.

Another part of Scott was grateful for the silence. They’d earned a bit of off time, he thought. The universe couldn’t really be _that_ cruel—to throw so much at them, to take so much away from them, and not give them any time to recover. They were bound to get a bit of down time, at some point. Get back to easier, more human things—like school, and homework, and thinking about colleges because _holy shit_ they were juniors and that was actually a thing they’d have to start thinking about. Normal problems. Time to get back on their feet.

But the biggest part of Scott was unnerved by it all. He wasn’t sure when their lives became so messed up that ‘supernatural disaster’ became their new normal, but it had—and he found himself yearning for some sense of normality. It was sick, and twisted, and wrong on so many different levels, and he knew that. But he needed _something_ to do—something to stop the itch of energy that laced his muscles, the hum of power running just under his skin. He didn’t even have lacrosse or cross country to help blow off some energy, help take the edge off. Damn off seasons.

It was like the wolf part of him was still on hyper alert, ready to pounce and protect at even the slightest hint of danger, the smallest threat. And he didn’t know what he was supposed to do about it.

The only thing that seemed to help, he was completely embarrassed to admit, was _Stiles._ It was always Stiles. It was the way he laughed, and the way he smelled, and the way his touch left Scott feeling warm and whole and _human._ It was the way Stiles has been probably the only consistent thing in his life. It was how he wasn’t sure he would’ve survived if they had lost Stiles to the nogitsune. It was the thought of him being there, and being real, and being _alive_ that kept the pacing beast in his bones at bay, that made his shoulders relax and his lungs breathe easy.

Scott’s always needed an anchor—it was just a part of being what he was. But this was ridiculous. Not to mention humiliating.

If Stiles was bothered by the change in Scott, he didn’t say anything. He rolled with the now regular sleepovers, even beginning to leave clothes over at Scott’s for when they weren’t planned. Their parents had gotten used to it, too—they didn’t even blink anymore when they went into one of their rooms to find the two of them huddled close together under the blankets. The first time, it had taken a lot of stammering and blushing on Scott’s part to explain it, but Stiles hadn’t been embarrassed in the slightest—he’d just slung his arm across Scott’s shoulders so shamelessly and confidently that Scott was equally grateful for and envious of it.

“Scott and I snuggle,” he’d announced to Melissa, almost proudly, the first time she’d caught them together. “There’s a long complicated story behind it including some pretty serious post-traumatic-stress crap, but it makes us feel better, so we do it.”

Melissa had looked back and forth for a second, before the confusion in her expression turned to open, nonjudgmental acceptance. “Well, okay then. I’m pretty much fine with anything that doesn’t put your lives in danger—and I’m pretty sure cuddling isn’t very dangerous. So okay—have at it.” And with that, she closed the door on her way out.

Scott would rather have had the “Surprise, I’m a werewolf!” conversations all over again. That was easier—and less humiliating—to explain than the fact that he’s got a new thing for _cuddling with his best friend._

But Stiles went with it, just like he went with it when the whole anchor thing started. Some part of Scott was comforted by the fact that it helped Stiles, too—because if there was anything in this world that he wanted more than anything, it was for Stiles to be okay. And Scott felt better that what was helping him was also helping Stiles—it was like a circle helpfulness. Stiles helped Scott who, in turn, helped Stiles.

Though that wasn’t really new. Not really. That’s kind of how their relationship has been for years—because that’s what brothers do. They pick up each other’s pieces when they fall apart and help glue them back together. That’s what they did when Stiles’ mom died, that’s what they did when Scott’s dad left. They help each other. It’s what they’ll always do.

That’s what this quiet time was for, Scott knew. It was for helping, and grieving, and healing. Not only for them, but for the entire pack. It was an opportunity for them to find their footing, for them to pick up all of the broken pieces of their world and attempt to put it back together. Their sky had crashed in all around them, and their lives had fallen apart…but they were alive. Which meant they had to keep on living, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how hard it was.

Which Stiles seemed to be struggling with, a bit. He was trying—god, he was trying more than anyone. But Scott could see how he’d get frustrated, and it made his chest ache. Stiles, after everything he’d been through, deserved this recovery time the most.

But he didn’t really have it.

Because he was spending it worried about failing junior year.

“Stupid fucking fox demon,” he muttered one day, slamming his textbook shut. “If you’re gonna use me as a murder puppet, the least you can do is go to class for me.”

“Stiles _,_ ” Scott chided quietly, pointedly shooting his gaze to the scowling librarian across the room.  She was too far away to hear anything, sure—but she was still glaring straight at them, the delinquents that dared to speak in her library.

Stiles dropped his head into his hands. “It’s not like she can hear me,” he mumbled. Then he laughed a little, though it was more bitter than anything—a tone he didn’t hear from Stiles much. “Besides, even if she did—I’m the psycho who went to Eichen, remember? No one believes a word I say anymore. All she’d hear was the crazy kid talking, well—crazy.”

Anger flared in Scott’s chest, so bad that red actually started bleeding into his vision. It was like that agitated, alert, animal part of him—the part of him that was probably way to overprotective of his best friend—had been agitated even further. He dropped his gaze, focusing on the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat, the comforting scent of him, before being able to blink the red out of his eyes.

He still didn’t know how the entire school found out where Stiles had been—but they had. Teachers, students, students’ parents. Everyone knew. And if whoever started spreading it around became known, they wouldn’t just have an angry Scott to deal with—they’d have a furious, fiery-haired banshee to deal with too. Scott hoped, for their own sake, that he found them before Lydia did. As much as she’s changed around them, as honest, and loyal, and just genuinely _good_ she’s become, she didn’t at one point run the school by being a good person. She could be vicious when she wanted to. 

Stiles stared at Scott, before slowly looking over his shoulder and returning his gaze to Scott’s. “Dude, are you okay?” he asked slowly, eyebrows drawing together. “’Cause you kinda went all Alpha eyes on me for a second there, and I kind of thought we were done with all the random half-shifting?”

Scott blinked at him for a second, before letting his eyes close. He shook his head a little letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Stiles, you’re not crazy.”

To that, Stiles snorted a laugh, which took Scott off guard. “Well, obviously not,” Stiles chuckled, nudging him in the arm. “At least no more than normal. But you are if you think you can deflect me that easily. C’mon, Scotty, you know me better than that. I’m undeflectable. So spill. What’s wrong?”

Scott shook his head before dropping it into his hands. “You’re gonna think I’m pathetic,” he groaned.

Stiles sighed, putting a hand on Scott’s back, and the warmth of it uncoiled a bit of the anger in his chest. “Buddy, we’ve talked about this,” Stiles said patiently. “We’re both pathetic. And that’s okay, because we’re pathetic together. I promise whatever it is will not make you any more pathetic in my eyes.”

Scott lifted his head, shaking it. Stiles kept his hand on Scott’s back. “I just—I feel like something should be happening,” he admitted. “I feel like—like it’s almost _too_ quiet. And it’s throwing me off. Making me edgy.”

Stiles nodded, something in his expression letting Scott know that he knew exactly what he was talking about. “It makes sense,” he offered up, trying to make Scott feel better. “I mean, we’ve practically been in nonstop danger for the past, what—year?” He shrugged a little. “I’m not surprised the whole ‘safe’ thing isn’t settling well with you.”

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose,” Scott continued quickly. “Because part of me is just so tired and wants to just figure things out and fix things and just—I don’t know. Move on, I guess. Live. Do normal things. Figure things out with Kira, and help train Malia, and help you, you know—not fail high school. Not fail it myself.”

Stiles nodded, listening between the words. “But…” he pressed, knowing there was more Scott wanted to say. It was an annoying blessing how perceptive Stiles was of those types of things.

Scott sighed. “But another part of me just…can’t. It feels like my nerves are all wired a-and like I’m just gonna jump out of my skin if I don’t _do_ something _.”_

Scott could practically see the wheels turning in Stiles’ head, which comforted the agitated energy inside him a surprising amount. It was like seeing Stiles think—something that was just so normal and so constant and so _Stiles_ —helped him push back the ansty, edgy feeling crawling under his skin.

“I guess it could be an instinctual thing,” Stiles said slowly, thinking out loud. Scott felt his eyebrows draw together in a frown, and Stiles shrugged a little. “Think about it—you’ve pretty much been in fight-or-flight mode nonstop lately, right? Adrenaline, vigilance, protectiveness and all that? It makes sense that the more instinctual part of you hasn’t gotten used to being totally safe, yet.” He paused for a minute, before adding, “Although I’m not sure why you’d think telling me would make me think you’re pathetic.  It seems like it’s probably pretty, I don’t know—normal? For werewolves? Needing time to adapt?” He shrugged a little.

Scott could feel the heat rise to his face, and he knew, as much as he despised it, that his ears were turning red. “That’s because that wasn’t the pathetic part,” he admitted with a wince.

Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. “Aha. So what is?”

Scott dropped his head to his hands, and his face was hot. He couldn’t look at Stiles. “You’re the only thing that helps make it better.”

Stiles was silent for a minute, and Scott regretted bringing it up in the first place. It was just… _weird._ Yeah, Stiles had put up with a lot of weird things from him—especially lately—but this was just…no.

“I’m still not seeing the pathetic part,” Stiles finally said, and his voice was light, almost amused. It made Scott look up, and when he did, Stiles still had an eyebrow raised at him. “I mean—isn’t that kind of the point of the whole _anchor_ thing in the first place? To help make things better? Doesn’t that mean I’m doing my job right?”

Scott sighed deeply, biting his lip. “Yeah, I guess, I just—I don’t want to mess things up between us, Stiles.”

Stiles rolled his eyes in such a great way that his entire head rolled with them. “I’m going to hit you, dude.”

“You know how many people have asked me if we’re dating this week?” Scott blurted out abruptly, before internally kicking himself because he totally vowed to himself he would not bring that up. Ever. He felt even more heat rise to his face as he was forced to continue. “ _Six._ And it’s _Wednesday._ Because I can’t seem to figure out how to be within five freaking feet of you and not want to just—”

“—touch me and snuggle me and deeply inhale _eau de Stiles_?” Stiles supplied, grinning now.

Scott narrowed his eyes in accusation, though he could feel even his neck turning red. “You’re enjoying this.”

Stiles rubbed his back soothingly, but there was mischief in his eyes. “What—watching you squirm and trip over words and look like a confused little puppy?” he asked, still grinning. “Absolutely.”

“I hate you, Stiles. I mean—I love you. But I hate you.”

“I know.  But look—I don’t care about any of that, dude. People have thought we were dating since before we even knew what dating _was_. And we’ve already been over the whole not-making-it-weird thing, and I’ve already told you—about twenty-three _billion_ times—that nothing we do could possibly make things weird. We’ve made out and things weren’t weird.”

“We were thirteen! We barely knew what making out was!”

Stiles continued, shaking his head. “You’ve tried to kill me—more than once. Things weren’t weird.”

Scott flinched at the reminder. “I’ve apologized for that, right?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.

Still, Stiles continued, basically ignoring Scott’s inputs. “You made out with Lydia and things weren’t weird.”

Scott could feel the color drain from his face. “I’m still really sorry about that.”

“I’ve tried to kill you—also more than once.”

“That wasn’t you,” Scott interjected quickly, shaking his head. “Stiles, that was the nogitsune. You know that wasn’t you.”

Stiles waved his hand dismissively. “Technicality. Doesn’t matter.”

“ _Stiles._ ”

“Fine, fine—the psychotic demonic fox spirit in my head used my body to try and kill you. Better?”

Scott winced. “Not really.”

“You’re missing my point, Scotty. It doesn’t matter what happens between us. I mean—we’ve been through a lot of crap, dude. Serious, life-changing, traumatic crap, and there’s no way in hell we’re walking away without some scars. But if we can get through the bad stuff without things being weird, why don’t you think we can get through the good stuff? Because this—the whole ‘craving contact’ thing? It’s a good thing. A really good thing. It makes you feel better, and it makes me feel better, and so who the hell cares what anyone else thinks about it?”

 As Scott listened to the words, something warm settled in him, something calm. Stiles didn’t mind. He’s said it before, but something in Scott just needed to hear it again, for him to be absolutely certain. Stiles didn’t mind.

Now Stiles sighed, squeezing Scott’s shoulder a little. “Dude, this is a little thing. A little, tiny, trivial thing that is totally not something to be worried about. It’s something that makes both of us feel better. We’re both a little banged up and bruised after everything that’s happened, and you should not be worrying about one of the only things that mutually makes us feel better. Okay? Save that worrying for when some new supernatural baddie comes rolling into town—because obviously it’s going to happen, with our luck.”

The sound of Stiles’ heartbeat, the sincerity in his voice, made some of the heat in Scott’s face fizzle out. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, before nodding. “Yeah,” he said quietly, gratefully. “Yeah, okay.”

Stiles leaned back into his chair, satisfied. He pointed a finger at Scott. “And I’m warning you now—the next time you stress yourself out about this, I’m going to wait until you fall asleep, put a ring of mountain ash around your bed, and force your little werewolf ass to snuggle with me until you admit yourself that it will make _nothing_ weird. Even if it takes all day. Get it?”

Scott, both amused at the threat and not at all surprised at the bluntness, nodded obediently, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Got it,” he promised, a little of the ache under his bones fading.

Stiles smiled. “Good. Now,” he sighed, pushing a stack of index cards towards Scott. “Help me not flunk econ.”

Shuffling through the cards, Scott frowned. “Stiles, you weren’t, I mean—you were _you_ when we learned all of these. Weren’t you?”

Stiles frowned, peering over at the cards, before snorting. “Yeah—technically. But that was right after the nemeton thing. Inability to read, and all that.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Might as well have not come to school at all.”

“Right,” Scott sighed, nodding. “Okay, then—where do you want to start?”

Stiles reached over and pointed at the corner of one of the cards. “The yellow ones.”

Sure enough, in the corner of each index card, was a color. Some were yellow, a few were green—but most were red. “What do they mean?” Scott asked, something suddenly tightening in his stomach, though he couldn’t figure out why.

Stiles shrugged. “The green ones I know—you can skip those ones—” he began, “the yellow ones I’m not entirely sure about, and the red ones I don’t have a _hope_ of learning before the test.”

Scott frowned down at the cards, shuffling through them. “Most of them are red.”

Stiles nodded. “Thanks, Captain Obvious,” he joked. But then he sighed tiredly. “Man. I never noticed how much you actually _learn_ at school. I missed, what—a week? A week and a half? And I don’t understand… _any_ of this.” He gestured to the mess of textbooks and notebooks and papers and flashcards around him. “It’s like it’s all gibberish. Which is…kind of new, for me. School’s always been one of the easier parts of my life, you know? Now I’ve missed so much I feel like I’m drowning in make-up work.”

Now it was Scott’s turn to squeeze Stiles’ shoulder. “Stiles, if anyone can bounce back from possession-caused truancy, it’s you. You’re going to be fine.”

Stiles snorted, almost in disbelief. “I hope so, dude. Junior year sucked enough—I’d really rather not have to repeat it, thank you very much.”

“Then you should probably start studying,” a voice said, and, turning, Scott saw Lydia approaching them, half-smiling. She slid neatly into the seat across from Stiles, peering down at all of the work. “Hm.” She plucked up one of the papers, eyes scanning it down.

Scott and Stiles exchanged looks, Stiles raising his eyebrows. “Hi, Lydia. Nice to see you, too. My day’s been great, thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Ha ha,” Lydia murmured, still reading down the paper. She picked up another. “But I’m good.” Then she frowned. “So are you,” she continued, handing the papers to him. “These are all right.”

Stiles blinked down at them, eyes scanning the words, before letting his head drop back, deflating against the back of his chair. “Oh, thank god.” Then he looked up, almost confused. “Wait—what are you doing here?”

Lydia looked up from whatever she was reading, and it was almost as if she couldn’t hold back a teasing smile. “I overheard someone talking about the crazy kid and his boyfriend being cute together in the library.”

Scott paled. “We—we’re not—”

“What was that, Scotty?” Stiles cut him off, cupping his hand around his ear. “Was that you _stressing_ about certain anchory obligations? About what other people might think?”

“Stiles, I love you and all, but—”

“Aw, man, I love you too. And I really don’t want to have to mountain ash you. That’s a seriously low blow, dude—though I’d be willing to stoop to that level if need be.” He raised an eyebrow at Scott. “Does need be?”

Scott, flushed now, rather than pale, hunkered down into his seat. “No.”

“Thatta boy. Now, stop with the puppy dog eyes—because hello, how is that fair—and help me study.”

Scott picked up the stack of index cards again, but didn’t feel the heat leave his face until Stiles, under the table, squeezed Scott’s free hand in his own. It was as if the touch vacuumed every ounce of the edginess out of his muscles, and warmth blossomed in his fingertips, slowly radiating throughout his whole body.

Lydia gave them a knowing, almost teasing look as they studied.

And for the rest of the hour, their fingers stayed interlaced, fit together like puzzle pieces.

 _Oh, god,_ Scott thought desperately. _I’m in trouble._

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to be doing AP Summer work but instead this happened?  
> This spur-of-the-moment series is kind of taking on a mind of it's own, and apparently it wanted slow build. Like, really, really slow slow build. What can I say? I think there will be maybe one or two more parts, after this. Also it's unbeta'd, so I apologize for any mistakes! Let me know what you think!


End file.
